Stage Fright (24 page)

I came out of the dream with a jerk. The clock said ten past seven. Downstairs I could hear Grace making conversational little noises. She was talking to herself. She would soon get tired of that and demand to be fed, but I had a few minutes respite. I settled back on the pillows and thought about the dream. What could it mean? Why was I playing Lady Isabel, the jealous wife who had abandoned her children? That was Melissa's role – in
East Lynne
and in real life. But then a startling thought occurred to me. It wasn't Melissa, was it, who was living with a nice reliable lawyer like Archibald? That was me. And was I also being tempted into adultery by an old love? That idea gave me a jolt. A moment or two's reflection and the analogy with
East Lynne
broke down. I couldn't see Joe as a murderer and the villainous seducer of young women. And how old was Lady Isabel? Twenty-five, tops, when she runs off, whereas I was nearly forty and had been married twice. And why was I entertaining these ridiculous thoughts anyway? I wasn't Lady Isabel and neither was Melissa, because Lady Isabel didn't exist. She was a character in a work of fiction. It was time I returned to the real world and got up and fed my baby.

But for all my rationalization, one question still remained. What was I going to do about Joe? If I wasn't going to let things go any further, there was something I had to do, and the sooner the better. After breakfast my chance came. The phone rang. At first there was just a crackling sound.

Then: ‘Cass? It's me. How did it go last night?' It was Stephen.

‘Fine! It went fine. Well, up to a point. I mean there's still no word of Melissa. But Phyllida came up with the goods in the end.'

‘Oh, I'm glad.' His voice faded away and I caught only snatches of what he was saying. ‘… fantastic here … the silence … bigger than the Statue of Liberty.'

‘The silence is bigger than the Statue of Liberty?'

‘Don't be silly. The redwoods. Some of them grow taller than the Statue of Liberty.' His voice came back so loudly that I had to hold the phone away from my ear. ‘– left the Big Sur Inn this morning. We're spending a night in a cabin in the forest. Going back to LA tomorrow. I'm on Bob's mobile.'

I took a deep breath. ‘I've got something to tell you.'

‘I can hardly hear you. The signal's not very good.' His voice seemed to be flickering on and off. It was like listening to a badly tuned radio.

‘I said, I've got something to tell you!'

‘Speak up then!'

‘I took my ex-husband to the opening last night!' I shouted.

‘You exhumed what?'

‘No, no! my ex-husband, my first husband. You remember! Joe! He's in Cambridge on sabbatical and he came to the opening with me.'

There was no response, but I couldn't tell whether it was because the signal had faded or because Stephen hadn't spoken.

‘Hello! Hello!' I bellowed. ‘Are you there?'

Stephen's voice came back weakly … ‘a turn-up for the book … nice that you weren't on your own…'

‘Also: he lost his rag with Kevin and nearly punched him!'

There was a brief buzzing sound, then quite suddenly his voice was as strong and clear as if he had been standing next to me.

‘Tell him not to hold back next time. He can land one on Kevin for me. Oh, God, the signal's going again. I'll speak to you again very soon. When I get back to LA. Miss you. Love you. Love Grace.'

‘Love you, too. Take care.'

‘You, too. 'Bye then.'

‘'Bye.' And he was gone.

As I hung up, I didn't know whether to feel relieved or affronted. Didn't he realize that I had been on the point of falling in love with another man? Or perhaps he didn't care? But I knew I'd be kidding myself if I pretended I thought that. I knew what he'd say if I pressed him. If I don't trust you, then that's the whole foundation of our relationship gone. Sure, you might let me down – my ex-wife did after all – but a life lived in fear of that happening again is no life at all. Wasn't that more or less what I'd decided myself a few days ago?

I went down to the kitchen to put the kettle on. While I waited for it to boil, I wondered if it's better to have a man who's too interested in you – or not interested enough? When I was twenty the question would have seemed absurd. I'd taken possessiveness and jealousy as signs of love. It's flattering to have all someone's attention. But would I really like Stephen to be the kind of man who wanted to know where I was and what I was doing all the time? It would be intolerable. And how close really was I to falling for the Joe of today? It was the Joe of twenty years ago that I was longing for – and the Cass of twenty years ago: the young woman who had been ardent and carefree, who could spend hours reading
War and Peace
in the bath, topping up the water again and again until her fingers were as wrinkled as prunes; the Cass who had been able to survive for days on bacon sandwiches and apples and black coffee; above all the Cass who had everything before her. I was mourning my lost youth, it was as corny and as clichéd as that. I was grieving because I'd lost my flat belly, my chin was getting blurry, and I'd never again go to a party and end the evening slow-dancing with a stranger. I felt an aching nostalgia for those days. But would I go back even if I could? What was that saying? that if everyone's life was put on the table, most people would pick up their own? A life without Grace was unthinkable. Stephen too was part of that life and he'd soon be home.

I grinned to myself. I liked black coffee now. In the old days I'd only drunk it because I thought it was more chic than white.

I decided to go out into the garden for a while and sit in the sun. When I went to get Grace out of her cot she was fast asleep and I decided not to risk waking her by shifting her to the garden. Instead I opened the study window, so that I'd hear her if she cried. I'd only be a few feet away. I locked the front door and took a rug and my coffee and
The Mill on the Floss
into the garden. I stretched out under the shade of a big elder-tree. I closed my eyes. The stream was making a gentle sound just on the edge of hearing. Minutes later, the coffee undrunk, I was asleep.

I woke up feeling that something had disturbed me. The sun was hot on my face and glowed red-orange on the inside of my eyelids. I yawned and opened my eyes. The sun had moved round while I'd been asleep. I looked at my watch. My God! Half past twelve. I sat up abruptly. I'd been asleep for three hours – no, nearly four. And Grace hadn't woken up. Or had she? Was it her crying that had woken me up? I listened intently. The house and garden lay silent under the midday sun. All the fears I'd had when Grace was a premature baby came rushing back. She never slept this long during the day. What if she wasn't asleep – what if— Oh God, how could I have let myself sleep so long? I ran into the house. It was cool indoors. I rushed down the stairs to my study, my heart heating fast. The cot was over by the window. I could see that Grace was hugging Woolly Bear to her chest with one hand. With the other she was pulling her foot up to her face. She was cooing to herself. I felt a flood of relief. I bent down into the cot to pick her up. She looked up and smiled at me. I froze in mid movement. For a few moments I didn't believe what I was seeing. I thought I might be hallucinating. I blinked and looked again. Nothing had changed.

It still wasn't Grace in the cot. It was Agnes.

My own baby had gone.

Chapter Sixteen

‘O
H
. Oh. Oh.' It seemed to be someone else who was gasping in shock. I looked round inside the cot as though I could have somehow overlooked Grace. I felt giddy. I groped for the swivel chair by my desk and collapsed on to it. I was trembling and my mouth was dry. How could this have happened? Might it be – was it possible – was she somewhere else in the house? Had I put her somewhere and forgotten about it? Had Kevin left Agnes here earlier?

My heart in my throat, I ran up to my bedroom, knocking over a pile of books on the study floor and nearly taking a tumble down the stairs. The duvet lay on the bed in a series of hummocks. I hadn't straightened it that morning. I searched the bed pulling the duvet this way and that. She wasn't there. For a crazy moment I wondered if I'd left her in the car. Could I really have left her shut in there on a warm day like this? I looked out of the window. The car lay inertly in the sun outside the front-garden gate. It was empty. No baby strapped in the car seat.

I couldn't delay the full realization any longer. Someone had taken her.

I wanted to run round the house screaming. But I walked back down to the study, forcing myself to slow down and think. Agnes was mumbling to herself in the cot. I looked down on her scarcely seeing her. I shouted, ‘Grace! Grace!' as if she might be somewhere nearby and could hear me and reply. Agnes was startled. She began whimpering. She tried to pull herself up into a sitting position. I couldn't bring myself to touch her. What was she doing here in the place of my own baby? Someone had come into the house while I was asleep in the garden and had taken Grace, substituting Agnes for her. But if Agnes was here, then…?

I went to the phone and stabbed in Kevin's number with a quivering finger. Almost immediately the phone was picked up at the other end. A familiar voice said hello. It was Melissa. My hand flew to my throat. The voice continued: ‘We can't come to the phone at the moment.' It was a recording. Kevin had left the answering-machine on and he hadn't changed the message. Perhaps he was there, all the same. I waited in an ecstasy of impatience for him to pick up the phone, but the message played itself out.

I slammed the receiver down and ran upstairs to the study. Agnes was crying, but it was a far-off sound that didn't have much to do with me. I scrambled up to my bedroom. I seized the binoculars and directed them towards Journey's End. I saw the boot of Kevin's red hire-car sticking out round the side of the house. He was at home. I grabbed my car-keys from the bedside table and ran to the study. The moment Agnes saw me, she whimpered. She lifted her arms imploringly. I paused. Could I leave her here? No, she'd have to come with me. When I lifted Agnes up, she sensed my anxiety and impatience and began to howl. I felt a flash of anger, of hatred, even.

‘Stop it, stop it,' I muttered through clenched teeth.

I just wanted to get rid of her and get my own baby back. Everything seemed to take an age. I fumbled with the clasp on the baby-seat. I stalled the car. And all the time Agnes was screaming with hunger and fear. Then I was off down the rutted track, driving as fast as I dared. The light was red at the level-crossing. Unable to sit still, I got out of the car, and stood by the gate to the track biting the skin around my fingernails. The train was coming from Ely. It advanced across the flat plain with infuriating slowness. After it had passed there was a delay before the light went green, then I was pumping the barriers up, running back to the car, driving through. I didn't wait to pump the barrier back down.

At Journey's End I pulled up sharply in a spray of gravel and leaped out to lean on the doorbell. Nothing happened. No one came. I put my ear to the door. Silence. I rang again and I rattled the doorhandle. The door was open. I ran through the dim sitting-room and up the stairs. I pushed open the door to Agnes's room. The curtains had been pulled back. Sunlight was flooding in the room. There in the cot was Grace. She was awake and sitting up. She had Agnes's felt snake in her hands and was sucking one of the baubles attached to it. When she saw me, her eyes opened wide and she chortled. I snatched her up. Standing there with my arms wrapped round her I felt that I would never let her out of my sight again for a single moment. But was she really all right? I held her out from my body to examine her. She grinned and wriggled, urging me to joggle her up and down. She was fine, absolutely fine, as perfect and lovely as ever.

As I stood there drinking her in, I heard the door behind me click shut. I turned round. Kevin was leaning against it.

*   *   *

He was wearing his usual uniform of jeans and a white T-shirt. His feet were bare. As I stared at him he drew one foot up and rested the sole of it against the door. His arms were folded across his chest in a way that made the muscles bulge. His lower face was dark with stubble.

‘What are you doing, Cassandra?' His voice was cool.

I pulled Grace back to my chest. She protested and struggled, but I held her close. ‘How did my baby get here?' I said, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

‘I'm sorry?'

‘How did Grace get here?'

‘Grace? But that's Agnes you've got there.'

I stared at him, unable to speak. He smiled.

Grace put her hand up to my face. Without taking my eyes off Kevin, I pressed her fingers to my face and kissed them.

‘They do look very similar, don't they?' Kevin said gently. ‘And you've been under a lot of pressure, haven't you?'

He continued: ‘Come on now, who'd do something like that? You really think someone came to your house while you were asleep? That someone took your baby away and left another one in her place? Who would that have been? The fairies, perhaps? Bit of a mad idea, isn't it?' He unfolded his arms and let his hands drop by his sides. ‘Who's going to believe you, do you think? Post-natal psychosis, that's what they call it, isn't it, when a woman with a baby goes off her head?'

The ground seemed to fall away beneath my feet. Was it possible, could he be right? Was this really Agnes? Was I going mad?

Grace made a little noise of complaint and gripped my T-shirt. I was back on solid ground. Of course this was my own child. It wasn't something there could be any doubt about. She was part of me. The connection between us was like a gravitational pull.

‘I don't know why you're doing this,' I said. ‘But I'm taking Grace home now.'